


Keeping You Waiting

by xSyntheticSensation



Category: Animal Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Choking, Ex Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Hate Sex, Hot Sex, J is a big time dom and we all know it, Non-Canon Relationship, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Break Up, Shameless Smut, Unprotected Sex, either way it's spicy, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28778103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSyntheticSensation/pseuds/xSyntheticSensation
Summary: J Cody doesn’t have a history of healthy relationships. When his ex shows up to a party for the first time since their break up, she isn’t sure what will happen, but she knows for certain it will be a night she won’t forget, no matter how badly she wants to.
Relationships: Joshua 'J' Cody/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Keeping You Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Smut. 18+ NSFW. Unprotected sex.  
>  **A/N:** Inspired by "Forget Me Too" by Machine Gun Kelly (ft. Halsey & Travis Barker)

  
_You want me to forget you  
Okay, forget me too  
You told me that you hate me baby   
Yeah I bet you do  
I'm keeping you waiting  
But I won't wait on you  
You want me to forget you  
Okay, forget me too  
  
_\- Machine Gun Kelly

The music reverberates through her body, bass pumping as she maneuvers through the throngs of drunk teens and twenty-somethings. The heady scent of weed, mingled with cigarette smoke and bad tequila clings to her nostrils, and she waits for her senses to adjust to the smell. Nervous anticipation fills her core, eyes scanning the room for familiar faces; or, more realistically, _a_ familiar face that she somehow simultaneously dreads and longs to see.

“Whoa, look who finally made it out,” a voice calls from behind her, causing her to turn around in the direction of the sound. She knows that voice.

She smiles, the head of greasy blond hair a comforting sight amid the sea of strangers. He turns his head to blow cigarette smoke out of the corner of his mouth before opening his arms for a hug as she greets him, “Hi, Deran.”

“Hey yourself, girl,” he replies, giving a quick squeeze before taking another drag of his cigarette. “Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” she answers, and she means it. He was always friendly with her, quickly falling into a sort of pseudo-older-brother type of relationship, and she had missed his company in her… _absence._

There’s a beat of silence as the unspoken question hangs in the air between them, thick with uncertainty.

“He’s around here, somewhere.”

“I figured.”

“There’s a girl hanging around him,” he says with a warning tone, a flash of concern in his blue eyes as he flicks the ash off his cigarette. “Just so you know.”

She rolls her eyes, resisting the urge to scoff. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck.”

“I’m just saying,” Deran says, holding his hands up in a mock defense.

She finds her way to the cooler, in search of a beer — though she’d really like something stronger — before making her way back to Deran.

“How’ve you been?” she asks conversationally, taking a sip of her shitty beer of choice.

“Oh, you know, same old,” shrugs Deran. “Smurf went on a tirade this morning, so I’ve been hiding out at the bar all day.”

She nods, understanding the sentiment, opting to take another drink.

“You should come see it. We got a new stereo system and re-tiled the bathrooms. It looks great.”

“I’d love that,” she muses. “I don’t know how, but you make the best greasy potato fries ever.”

He grins, “It’s a secret recipe.”

And that’s when she sees him, leaning against the wall so casually, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a sweating glass bottle from which he takes a long swig. He’s flanked by two girls, both vying for his affections, and it is strange to see, considering he is a man who prefers to sit on the sidelines rather than be the center of attention.

Light from the tiki torch next to him casts a warm glow over his tanned skin, allowing the darkness in his eyes to be accentuated. Even at a party, he is cunning, aware, planning, and she briefly wonders if he’s seen her.

The muscles in his neck jump as he swallows the cold liquid, and her line of sight trails down over the plain, fitted tee he is wearing. He isn’t the most muscular guy, but she knows each line of the body that lies underneath the cotton of his shirt; she can practically feel the sinewy flesh beneath her fingertips as she watches him.

He looks _good_ , and he knows it.

Honestly, when she thinks back, she isn’t really even sure if she could pinpoint one specific moment _when_ they broke up; all she knows is that they did — _hard._ It was the opposite of the cliche, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ — because it _wasn’t_ her, it was him. She remembers the long, lonely nights, waiting for him to call, only to find out that he’d gotten too drunk, or too high. The jobs were always too busy, the parties were always too crowded, and she was always the first to be cast aside.

When she looks back on the chapter of her life titled J Cody, she will mostly remember the constant feeling of disappointment mingled with the sting of slow and agonizing heartache. He never had time for her, or, rather, he never made time for her, and at the end of the day, she simply was never a priority.

It ended in a series of loud, fiery explosions, symbolic of their relationship; bursts of brilliant color and flame, the end always looming in the distance. She no longer recalls what they said, just a blur of harsh words and cruel realities; all she can remember is the screaming, the fighting, the crying. Oh, _God,_ the crying. She never knew she had so many tears in her, wondering how they could just keep _coming_. But they did, they always did.

J Cody had left her raw, battered, and bruised, holding the tattered gauze over her heart as she picked up the pieces. And somewhere along the way, all of the confusing feelings she had for him morphed into one: hatred. She hated his guts, his smug expression, the way he kept a six foot brick wall outfitted with sniper rifles and land mines around his heart. She hated his stupid, arrogant Land Rover, the annoyingly sexy click in his jaw, and the two hour minimum wait time for a text back. But most of all, she hated how no matter how hard she tried to hate him, she couldn’t stop _wanting_ him.

“You guys are young; you’ll figure it out,” Deran’s voice says, pulling her out of her daydream.

Her eyebrows raise, turning to give him an incredulous and amused look. “He’s selfish, Deran. He only cares about himself.”

“That’s a Cody trait for sure. You can thank Smurf for that one.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along the compliment,” she replies sarcastically, draining the contents of her bottle before tossing it in the bin a few feet away. She murmurs to him that she is going to the restroom, slipping behind him to head towards the house.

J notices her the second she walks through the crowd into the party, and he’d be lying if his interest isn’t immediately piqued. The two girls standing with him — Vanessa and Clara — are jabbering away, trying so hard to appear cool. Honestly, Clara isn’t so bad, but it is painfully obvious that Vanessa is overcompensating. For what, he isn’t sure, but he really doesn’t care enough to find out.

When he sees her hug Deran, the comfort appearing in her stance, he knows that she’s anxious. Anxious to be here, to see him, to face him after their last run in. He feels bad — he really does — because he hadn’t _meant_ to cast her aside the way he had. If only she could see that he was working on his exit strategy — away from Smurf, away from the toxicity, away from all of this.

But not away from her.

Yet, when all was said and done, his actions had the opposite of the desired effect, and he’d had to face the cold consequence of his defeat.

J Cody isn’t too familiar with the feeling of regret, but he thinks that might be what this is bubbling inside of him, lashing out at any reminder of her that crosses his mind. He could have — and should have — loved her better. Instead, he’d set fire to her soul and watched it burn from a distance.

She looks good, he thinks, her skin looking sun-kissed as always, the freckles ever-present on her nose. The crop top she sports reveals enough of her chest that it has him wishing he could lick from the little bow tied neatly in the front up to those delicious collarbones, and her hips are begging to be squeezed. His gaze swoops over her legs in the jeans she’s painted on, and he recalls with smug delight how enjoyable it is to peel the denim off of her frame.

Unfortunately, he knows that he’ll probably never get to experience that pleasure again, but as his calculated gaze roves over her backside, he convinces himself he has to try.

At the very least, he’d have some good material for later. No one can rile him up the way she does, and, though he won’t admit it out loud, no one can make him _feel_ the way she does, always savagely hungry for more.

“Excuse me, ladies,” is all he offers to the two girls by his side before walking away abruptly. He is a predator stalking its prey, eyes focused on his target as he walks through the crowd. His disappointment quickly turns into excitement when he sees her mutter something to Deran before turning and entering the house. _Bingo._

Rather than use the half bath that was open to the public at the gathering, she opts to sneak through the corridor to use the bathroom shared by Craig and J in favor of a little bit more privacy and a lot more quiet. Unfortunately, the former’s door is locked, so she has to go through J’s room to get there. She does her best to tiptoe through the clutter, looking toward her destination rather than anywhere around the room she’s slept in so many times before.

When J reaches the sliding door to the kitchen, he glances around in search of his target, briefly worrying that he’s lost her. After standing casually near the half bath and watching a highly intoxicated redhead stumble out, he deduces where next to set his sights, and silently thanks the powers above for making this _too_ easy. When he arrives, can smell the warm, floral scent of her perfume resting in the air in his room, the familiarity not lost on him, as he waits outside the bathroom door.

Her eyes briefly register a moment of shock as the door opens, her body bristling at the sight of him in such close proximity, but she quickly recovers with a swallow and cross of her arms.

“Josh.”

He hates when she calls him that, and he knows that she knows it.

“Surprised you came around here,” he comments, not bothering to step out of her way.

“Am I not allowed? Blacklisted from the Cody house forever?” she raises an eyebrow, mentally noting the quickest exit from his presence.

“Never blacklisted.”

What in the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean? Damn him and his mysterious suave bullshit. It enraged her, and at the same time, intrigued her to no end. He never showed his hand, and rarely said what he truly meant; he spoke in eloquent, enigmatic proclamations, and though their relationship had come to an end, she found that she _still_ wanted nothing more than to know the happenings inside the head of J Cody. A hopeless wish, really.

She makes a move to step around him, and he mimics her movement, blocking her path. “Why _did_ you come?”

A beat of silence passes as she contemplates the question. _Why indeed_ , she thinks to herself.

“I missed Deran,” she says flatly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that all you miss?”

She pauses to stare at him, the loathing behind her eyes clear as she registers the implication behind his probe. “What else would I _possibly_ miss?”

His eyes flick to the bed to her right, and the motion does not go unnoticed.

“In your dreams,” she spits, resisting the urge to laugh coldly at his unspoken advance.

“Why the hostility?”

“Fuck you, J.”

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She scowls in reply, but he knows all too well what her lack of denial means, and _one_ (or maybe both?) of his heads rejoices.

“I know you would,” he continues, opting to toy with the line of pushing her buttons and pissing her off for good. “How many guys did you fuck trying to find someone who could do it the way I do?”

“I’ve always had one better,” she taunts back, waving her hand in front of his face.

“Oh, but you know that’s not the same,” he breathes coolly, dark eyes taking her in. His expression is unreadable as he takes a step closer, and she can feel her breath hitch in her throat.

“You’re right; it’s better,” is her retort. “I don’t have to put up with a selfish, know-it-all asshole just to get my rocks off.”

His sneer is nothing short of venomous, taking another step closer. “You and I both know I am _far_ from selfish in the bedroom, baby.”

Conjuring up her most disgusted tone, she replies, “I’m _not_ your baby.”

“No? Then how about my filthy little whore?”

“I’m not your anything, Cody. You made sure of that.”

“Who was the one who ended things again?” he muses, sarcasm dripping from his smug mouth.

“ _You_ did,” she spits. “When you never called and never cared.”

“Oh, I cared.”

She laughs coldly. “Is that why I wasted _so_ much fucking time waiting around for your call every night?”

 _“You_ were the one who never could understand the responsibility I have.”

Her eyebrow raises in amusement, biting back all of the insults she wants to throw his way, instead choosing a sarcastic, “What’s it like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, J?”

His reply is simply to smirk, appreciating her quick wit, even if it is at his own expense. J Cody is a smart man, and he likes her because she can keep up with him, matching him step for step.

“I’d imagine that it’s similar to what it’s like up there on your high horse.”

She glares at him, and in that moment, she resists the urge to punch him square in the mouth, distantly reminding herself that he simply isn’t worth the time or the energy.

“I fucking _hate_ you.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.”

The tension is thick, the air between them heavy and heated, as she suddenly realizes that she is trapped between J and the wall of his bedroom. Somehow she knows that this is exactly where he wants her, and exactly where she knew, deep down, that she would end up tonight.

She sees his eyes flick to her lips, and it takes everything in her being to keep her eyes trained on his, rather than mimic his action; she fails, though, when his tongue slips out to wet his lips, her eyes automatically glancing to the movement.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, and somehow his voice has gotten smoother, deeper, the tones settling into her core like velvet draped delicately over each surface.

“How — how badly I want to get out of here,” she breathes, willing herself to maintain her cool. They both know it’s a lie, but he humors her with a smirk.

Piercing eyes are trained now on her lips, unwavering as he watches the words leave her mouth. _Such a pretty mouth._

“Really? Because I can’t stop thinking about how badly I want to fuck you right now.”

She freezes, her heart stuck in her throat, mind void of any snarky response, and J takes full advantage of her silence, launching forward the remaining few inches between them to press his lips against hers. He kisses her roughly, pulling her into him like he wants to consume her whole.

Try as she might, she can’t fight back and gives in to her desire, returning his passion equally and pouring herself into his kiss.

“Such a fucking nag,” he says, emphasizing the insult by tugging at the strings on her top, ripping it over her head as if it were on fire.

His teeth sink into the skin on her neck, and she sighs out at the sting, hands groping for any inch of him she can claw her fingers on. Even through the soft cotton of his shirt, her nails bite at his skin, faint welts growing in their stead.

“This what you wanted when you came over, isn’t it?” he mouths against her, sucking his claim into her flesh while his hands grope her over the pretty black bra she sports. “Why you wore this for me?”

“I wore it for _me_ ,” she manages to get out amid a moan, clutching at the fringes of his hair nestled at the base of his neck. The coolness of the air around her, contrasting starkly to the heat between their bodies, shocks her as his hand swiftly removes the hook of her bra, letting it fall to the floor between them.

“Guess that didn’t go so well.”

“You’re insufferable,” she says, gasping as his mouth latches onto her pert nipple. His free hand palms her other breast, massaging roughly as he bites the sensitive skin between his teeth. Her hands rake harshly through his soft hair, curled slightly in the way it always did the day after the beach. “Such a fucking asshole.”

“Shut up,” he growls, the sound vibrating against the sensitive skin of her chest.

“Make me, Cody.”

The next thing she knows, one large hand is on her neck, applying the perfect amount of pressure to take her breath away, while his other hand is ripping open the button on her jeans, plunging into the fabric of her panties. Without warning, his fingers breach her core, soft and wet, and her moan gets caught in the throat that he is squeezing.

“You’re always wet for me, aren’t you?” he whispers roughly, lips pressed against the shell of her ear. “So fucking _wet_.”

Any response that she conjures dies on her lips as he thrusts two thick fingers into her slick heat. His hand releases her throat in favor of gripping her jaw before mashing his lips against hers, tongue invading her mouth without warning. Pumping in and out, he savors the feeling of her cunt, his cock rapidly inflating at the thought of being buried inside of her.

His kiss is harsh, claiming, as if reminding her that no one else can take her breath away like he can. She tastes the faint hints of beer and the weed on his tongue, and kisses back as if she can swallow the flavor and keep it with her forever.

He drinks down the sighs that escape her lips as he works between her legs, his forearm tight with the force of his thrusts. It feels so fucking good — it always does — and he knows exactly how to hit all of the perfect spots inside of her to make her a mess. And, _God,_ does he want to make her a mess. His mess.

“J, p-please…” she chokes out, legs beginning to tremble and insides clenching.

“Oh, now you’re gonna use your manners?” he spits out, teasing, pushing his fingers further into her core. It’s as if he hopes he can convey his disdain for her through the force of his hand, each stroke simultaneously pushing her away and pulling her closer. He’s fucking her so fast, so rough, that his hand is completely covered in her slick, and he can feel it dripping down the back of his palm. _Fuck._

The fire between them bites at her center, burning blue where his fingers connect their bodies. He strengthens the flame, adding gasoline with his heavy breath in her ear, the heat cascading down the sensitive skin of her neck. Goosebumps rising on her skin are contrasted to the warmth she feels all over, unable to help the shiver that shoots down her spine as he hits the perfect spot with the pad of his middle finger.

Without warning, the cord inside of her snaps, and she comes — hard. Unable to move, unable to breathe, the force of her orgasm completely taking over her system, she shudders as it wrecks her. He wants to absorb, consume, all of it, all of _her_ as he watches her fall apart.

Forcefully, J pulls her away from the wall, his strong arm holding her up as he spins their bodies around before pushing her back onto the bed. Her body immediately recognizes the soft sheets, the gentle give of the mattress, and she has to stop herself from falling into it, instead mustering up the physical strength to watch him as he tugs her jeans down her legs. Her panties rest loosely against her core, messy and off-kilter, before he yanks them down, too, eyes feasting hungrily on what lies between the thighs that she spreads so languidly for his viewing.

The sight she presents is truly spectacular; mussed hair, flushed skin, bite marks along her breasts, and a wet, deliciously swollen pussy make for any man’s daydream, and here she is, in his bed again after all this time. His eyes are hungry, all-consuming, and she realizes that the way he gazes at her is something she craves; more than that, it is kindle for the burning desire she feels for him despite every inch of her screaming otherwise.

Part of him wants to bed his face between her legs until she’s writhing, screaming his name for everyone outside to hear, but he’s painfully hard and he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t get inside of her soon.

He pulls his shirt over his head in that sexy way that boys do, and she resists the urge to bite every inch of his exposed skin in favor of yanking the button of his jeans open, pushing them down his hips along with his crisp black boxer briefs underneath.

“Smurf still doing your laundry for you?”

A smirk is all she gets in response as he fists his cock, but that’s all she needs. She wants to get under his skin the way he has gotten under hers, and she knows it’s working.

He lunges forward, fingers digging into the sides of her stomach, squeezing tightly in reprimand of her snark. Lips, then teeth, find their way to the junction of her neck and shoulder, biting the sensitive skin and earning a pleasant hiss from her. He can feel her heart thumping in her throat, and he aims to capture the beat of it in his mouth.

Her hands dive into the curls atop his head, fingers coiling into the fine hair. She gives a rough yank, reciprocating his aggression, as if to let him know that two can play this game.

It is a battle, one that neither can win, locked eternally in an effort to outwit, out-smart, out- _hate_ the other. Somewhere, in the back of her head, she thinks that maybe she can show him through her disdain how badly he hurt her, but the logical side of her knows that there is no convincing J Cody of anything he doesn’t want to see.

Distracted by his length bobbing gently against her thigh, soft like velvet against her skin, her legs spread further open against her will, inviting him in. He groans in her ear when one hand snakes between them to grab him, her hot hand squeezing him tightly.

“Do you want this?”

The question shocks her; J has always been a ‘take what you want’ kind of guy. Maybe the time apart has changed him, she thinks, until her attention is quickly drawn to the way he thrusts against her slit, avoiding her clit, but providing enough friction to make any doubt she might have float away. The feeling makes her ache for him, starving for him to fill her up completely.

“Fucking fuck me, Cody.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

J flips her over roughly, hand pressing against her shoulder blade as he guides himself to her entrance. His eyes close as he pushes in, his head falling back as he groans at the sensation. She might be a bitch, but god _damn_ does she feel good.

The moan that leaves her, muffled by his comforter, is something that he wishes he could bottle up and keep in his memory forever. So wanton, so needy, so sexy. And he wants to hear it again. And again. And again.

“Still a slut for me, I see,” he grunts, hips hitting the flesh of her ass as he bottoms out inside of her.

“Is that why my pussy’s so tight you can’t think straight?”

Unfortunately for J, she’s right; all coherent thought has left his body, only knowing the feeling of her wrapped around him. He can’t even pretend to forget about her when it feels like her cunt was made just for sucking the ever-living fuck out of him, draining him dry without any effort. He’s focusing on breathing, but loses his train of thought every time he looks at her ass. Why did he let her leave?

“J, I need you to move,” she whines, bracing her hands on the soft material of the blanket and pushing back on him slightly.

The soft sigh of his name pulls him out of his trance and back to reality. His hands move to her hips, gripping tightly as he sets a rough rhythm, creating a crude melody amidst the sounds of the pop music playing outside.

She cries out, never tiring of the feeling of him being sheathed completely inside of her, deprived after all this time apart. His skin against hers is nothing short of electric, amplified with each push, each sigh, each clench. The loud crack of his palm against her ass earns another hiss from her pretty mouth, quickly followed by a gasp as he reaches forward to grab a fistful of hair, yanking it back sharply. He fucks her like this, willing her spine to arch further and further, the slap of his hips like a metronome in the darkness of his room.

“You feel so fucking good,” he pants against the shell of her ear. “You like that, baby?”

Her response is to simply tighten her core muscles, squeezing him for all he’s worth, and he lets out a resounding grunt. He strikes her ass again, and she can’t help but cry out, the sharp slap sending a wave of oxytocin through her system. His mouth finds the skin of her neck, licking and biting any inch of flesh that he can touch, his hips never wavering in their rhythm.

It’s all sweat and heavy sighs and powerful slaps, the feeling of _finally_ scratching the itch a long-awaited relief that they didn’t know they needed. Vaguely, she thinks that she should try to be quiet to avoid attracting attention from any of the partygoers, but most of her is too caught up in her own pleasure to care.

J’s hand releases the knot of hair in his fist, only to quickly move to her front to squeeze the column of her throat. He can feel her breath hitch beneath his palm, searching for air to gasp out at the pleasure he brings her.

“Still have an attitude for me?” he breathes, voice so low it is almost a purr. “Don’t have much to say when I’m buried balls deep, do you?”

Almost out of instinct, his fingers release the firm grip on her throat, allowing her to choke out, “F— fuck you, J.”

“I _am_ fucking you, darling.”

Her core is burning with pleasure, the flames licking at her belly, insatiable save for the pound of his hips. She can see the fireworks in front of her, ready to be set off at any moment; she is floating in ecstasy, the feeling she only gets with _him_ , and her hatred is set aside for the time being, sights set on the grand finale in front of her.

When he shifts his angle, tilting his hips ever so slightly, he relishes in the uninhibited moan she lets out. His hand drops from her shoulder, moving to clutch at her hips with both hands, pulling her back onto his shaft as he grows impossibly harder when he feels her tighten around him.

“J, don’t stop —“

And for once, he listens. Maintaining his hot and heavy rhythm, he drives her right to her peak, like a roller coaster creeping its way up to the top of the hill, moments away from the drop. Butterflies swarm in her belly, cranking up the tracks toward the crest, ready to sit on top of the world before the ultimate descent. With one final slam against her ass, J pushes her over the edge, her body seizing and twitching uncontrollably as the waves of ecstasy wash over her. Her cry is frozen in the air, hanging between them like all of the unspoken words dancing silently around them.

The feeling of her clenching tightly around his length has him groaning, and she can _feel_ the deep sound in her core. He pumps roughly a few more times before his hips stutter and he emits a low growl as he spills into her. Hanging still for a few moments, the room is now silent save for the soft pants from his throat and the muffled hip hop song blaring outside.

J’s hands release her hips, and she slumps forward as he pulls out, the familiar hot trickle running down her thighs; she knows he is admiring the view. He always did.

And just like that, though the haze of her climax blankets her with a comfort, the reality of the situation sets in and her heart sinks in disappointment. In herself, mostly, for putting herself in this position, but also for not feeling a single shred of regret at fucking him — her ex. Her horrible, selfish, dick of an ex.

_And what a dick he has._

“It’s nothing, yeah?” he says from behind her as if he is reading her mind. He’s tugging his jeans back up his legs, and she feels her heart sink even further — because why, exactly? Did she think they were going to have post-coital cuddles and whisper sweet nothings in each other’s ears? No, J Cody doesn’t do fairy tale endings, she knows that.

Swallowing her mental letdown, she heaves herself up and sends him a distasteful glare as she retrieves a tissue for herself to clean up, no thanks to him, of course. Suddenly she feels _so_ bare, and she hurries to pull her clothes back on, tying the strings of her top haphazardly.

J watches her wistfully, wishing there was time for — what? The fleeting thought that maybe, _maybe_ he wants her and can fix this (whatever _this_ is) passes through, because having her here, in this room, with him, feels right, even if she is glaring daggers in his direction. In the same instance, he knows he’s fucked this up too bad to remedy this, and he swallows thickly, his pride following suit.

She finishes buckling the strap on her sandal, standing up stiffly to face him. Somehow she knows this is the end, the _real_ end, the stitches of the wound finally coming out to let the scar show, and she feels compelled to say something for closure, or whatever.

“I’m…” he trails off, the words that he knows he needs to say stuck in his throat, unable to move. “I’m sorry.”

Just like that, the hostility inside of her dissipates, the hard layer surrounding her heart cracking and falling away. All of the anger, the bitterness, and the hatred vanishes with his two words, revealing a timid peace paired with just a twinge of sadness.

She offers a small smile that he does not return, acknowledging his apology and declining the opportunity to comment. Licking her lips, she tears her eyes away from the ones that are imploring her to speak, moving past him without any barrier toward the door. Before she goes to leave, she turns to him one last time and looks him in the eyes, her heart screaming at her brain to not close this door.

“Forget me, J.”


End file.
